chapter 1

Dark specks bloom across Ryuu’s vision with every blink, like drops of ink bleeding into clear water. The world around him warps and fades, each breath of reality dimming like a dying candle. He blinks faster, harder—desperately—but it does little. His sight slips away slowly, cruelly, like fingers dragging a curtain over his world. Panic coils deep in his gut. Every instinct in his battered body screams for movement—for escape—for survival.

But it’s useless.

The sharp, measured sound of shoes tapping against the floor slices through the silence, each step a death knell that confirms what he already knows: he is not alone, and he is not getting away.

Each inhalation scrapes down his throat like sandpaper soaked in acid, his lungs clutching at air that feels thick as oil. A coppery tang stains his tongue—faint at first—then surging forward with each wrenching cough like a machine gun firing from within. Blood bubbles up, frothing past his lips, spilling out like beer from a mug tipped too far. His body, though weak and reeling, instinctively rolls to its side. Pain ripples through him, but the relief of having the blood flow freely instead of choking him outweighs it. He knows—deep down, bitterly—that this is all he can do to survive: become a fountain of his own ruin, leaking life to buy time.

Agony wraps around him like a weighted blanket lined with glass. The pain in his side is sharp, searing—like a knife twisted inside molten flesh. Despite the torment and the suffocating grip of his failing breath, his mind wanders. He wonders, almost idly, whether the agony or the lack of oxygen will kill him first. The thought sparks a twisted, gurgling laugh from his throat, coughing more blood as it escapes. He doesn’t know why he laughs. It’s madness—but it feels honest, right in this moment of unraveling.

I deserve it, he thinks bitterly, tears burning tracks down his cheeks, warm and silent.

Suddenly, a splash of cold hits his ribs. It startles him—a jolt of clarity—but with it comes rising panic. He hadn’t noticed the water creeping in, hadn't seen the floor shimmer and ripple. A moment ago, it was dry. Now, it's kissed with a sheen of shallow liquid, blooming red as blood seeps into it. The stillness of the water is the worst part. It reflects nothing but dread. It doesn't move, doesn’t swirl unless disturbed. And that silence—it screams.

Kaito.

Ryuu knows it the moment he feels the spear twist deeper into his flesh. The weapon buries itself slowly, deliberately—not enough to pass through, but enough to draw excruciating pain that radiates through his body like fire licking bone. A cruel chuckle bounces off the walls, echoing back at him like a haunting lullaby. His body jerks uncontrollably, like a worm flailing on dry soil, but it’s useless. Kaito is unmoved. Then, as if performing a mundane chore, the man pulls the spear out with the casual ease of someone opening a cabinet door.

“Shh, little dragon,” Kaito whispers, his voice light and laced with mockery. “Wouldn’t want Lord Yagami to hear you. He wouldn’t allow me to heal you, after all.”

His words drift through the room like smoke—deceptively soft, but every syllable cuts Ryuu like glass.

Water rushes into the open wound, flooding the cavity with a cold, stinging burn. Ryuu hates it, loathes the feeling, but somewhere in his mind, he knows—Kaito is helping. He’s not healing out of kindness, but the coolness soothes, just barely. The sensation swirls inside him, foreign and wrong. His stomach lurches, bile rising in his throat at the bubbling that follows, but he clenches his jaw and wills it down.

“S-stop,” he breathes, barely louder than a ghost. His voice, once velvet-soft, now cracks with pain—a fragile whisper threatening to break entirely.

“Sorry, pipsqueak, but I can’t let you go just yet,” Kaito replies, the teasing tone at odds with the fire in his eyes. He crouches lower, drawing closer. Bitterness clings to him like a second skin. Anger pulses behind his smile—calculated, controlled. His hand lowers the spear to the floor with a sudden splash near Ryuu’s face. The sound is loud in the silence, startling.

“Now, my dear Ryuu, I’m offering you help—not as a soldier, but as a friend.” The word hangs in the air, poisoned and heavy. “I’m going to pick you up. You’re going to keep that sweet mouth of yours shut. Let me heal you... and maybe more.”

His hand slides down Ryuu’s back, slow and deliberate.

A cold shiver rolls through Ryuu. The touch is gentle—almost tender—fingers gliding in soft circles along his spine, tracing paths from his neck to his shoulders, then finally resting between the twin black wings partially unfurled on his back. He’d tried to protect himself with them during the fall—tried to fly away, to escape—but failed. The touch is both comforting and horrifying. The sensation is wrong—not because of the physicality—but because of the context. It’s like petting a spider you know won’t bite... until it suddenly does.

Despite the discomfort crawling over his skin, Ryuu’s body is giving in. The pain—though dulling—and the suffocating weight of blood loss press against him like a collapsing ceiling. He tries to fight it, to stay awake, but it’s futile. It’s like trying to keep a window open in the middle of a hurricane. Drowsiness pulls at his mind, heavy and unrelenting. Darkness spills in like ink in water.

And then—blinding pain.

His left wing sears with white-hot agony, a scream clawing its way up his throat—but it never makes it out. Only the crackling of broken bone and torn muscle fills the room. The pain flashes, all-consuming—and then fades, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its place.

“Shh, Ryuu... you’ll be okay...” Kaito breathes into his ear. This time, his voice is soft. Gentler than before. A sigh follows as he settles beside the unconscious boy, knees bent in thought.

His eyes remain fixed on Ryuu, unreadable. Calculating. Perhaps even remorseful. Then, with a flick of his fingers, the water surrounding them begins to glow—a faint, otherworldly blue. The light pulses in rhythm with Ryuu’s weak heartbeat. The wound begins to mend, ever so slowly. Not enough to seal completely, but just enough to stop the blood from leaking. Just enough to close the hole in his lung.

Carefully, Kaito slips an arm around the limp body, pulling Ryuu against his chest with the gentleness of a parent holding a fragile child. The gesture is strangely tender, offering warmth where cruelty once lingered. And in that moment, guilt flickers through him—weak, but real. He holds Ryuu closer, almost protectively.

But no... he can't be weak. Not now.

Ryuu is special—dangerously so. People want him dead. Others want to break him, use him, keep him. The Dark Lord included.

And Kaito?

Kaito needs to make sure he survives.

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